The poetic task on this happy Friday was to write an elegy on the subject of ‘fog’, using a metaphor. Here goes…



The sight was hazed, the stature awry,

When whistling chaperoned the blindness.

Our bones would knock as sea-bound rocks,

As we tripped the dance of the inebriated.


Thanks to the Daily Post for the photo prompt.

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  1. 22nd February 2015 / 1:12 pm

    Nice one Laura! Love the second line! Opens it up from just the inebriated fog to all types of blindness, to the mysterious!

    • 23rd February 2015 / 10:43 am

      Thank you! It’s great to get some feedback, and I’m glad it’s being interpreted that way!

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